When the Dust Settles
by hyacinthian
Summary: She comes back into his life again. MarkAddison.


A/N: Just as a reference point,** I haven't watched _Grey's Anatomy _since the debacle that was Season 3** (which is when I proclaimed it went shark jumping. But anyhow.), **so if I get anything wrong about Lexie or the hospital as-is, I apologize**. I wanted kick-ass S2 Addison back, and BFF Derek/Mark back, and awesomely bitchy Bailey back. Remember how awesome it used to be, pre-drama-llama?

* * *

He thinks he's moved on, except, of course, he hasn't. He's still Mark and Derek's still Derek and they both have this huge cloud of history they aren't quite ready to be nostalgic about named Addison hanging over both their heads. But that history spans a lot of years - almost back to high school. Even a little Grey can't undo all of that. Rewriting history is gradual, especially if there's a lot of it.

The minute she reappears at Seattle Grace, wearing a pair of classic Ray-Bans and looking all the New York socialite she likes to think she isn't, he is (rightly) startled. "Jesus Christ!"

She smirks. "Thanks," she says, lowering her sunglasses, "but I go by Addison."

He just gapes. "What are you _doing _here?"

She doesn't answer his question, just stares mutely, mournfully, out the window. "It's raining."

He snorts. "It's Seattle." He pinches the bridge of his nose in an effort to ward off the headache he knows is coming. Addison Forbes Montgomery-Shepherd-Whatever always brings a myriad of questions with her entrances.

Derek looks strangely complacent and curious as he wanders over from the nurses' station. "Addison."

She acknowledges his nod with one of her own. "Derek."

"Mark," Derek adds.

"Derek," he finishes.

It's practically gravitational, destined - the three of them seem to be bound to each other, no matter what happens. The world could end and, wouldn't you know it, the three of them would end up trying to grow potatoes in the same 10x10 patch of barren earth in what used to be Idaho.

Derek crosses his arms over his chest. "What do you want?"

"World peace," she replies, dryly. He forgets that about her sometimes, her dry sarcasm. Seattle - and LA - have changed her so much, he almost forgets who she used to be.

"What are you doing here?" Mark repeats.

Derek just forges ahead. "Did LA get destroyed? I thought you wouldn't set foot in Seattle unless you had to."

She looks vaguely around the hospital at the tacky tiling, the sterile smell, the lack of natural light - "I missed it."

Mark and Derek shoot each other a look before huffing in disbelief, "You _missed _it?"

She rolls her eyes, "Okay, yeah, no, I didn't. I have to go to a conference."

"You know this isn't college, right? It's not like Derek and I can go for you and sign you in so you won't get in trouble with the professor."

She narrows her eyes at him. "You owe me, Mark."

"Owe you?" he chuckles. "For what?"

"Second year med. school, Cinco de Mayo. After you left the party with that trashy blonde, you came back and started talking to me again, right before you lit my hair on fire."

"You're cashing that in _now_?"

"I bide my time for situations like these."

"What kind of conference is it?"

"Emerging Theories in the Future of Neonatal Surgery."

He groans. "You're kidding me."

"Nope. And you get to be right there in the thick of it."

"Wait, wait," Derek chirps. "When did you light her hair on fire?"

"After you passed out on the floor," Addison says, with a wave of her hand.

"Why don't I remember this?"

"Senility," Mark says.

"Alcohol kills brain cells, Derek. You passed out." She rolls her eyes. "It's not brain surgery."

Mark smirks. "I still stand by senility."

Addison arches a brow. "So?"

"Do I really have a choice?"

Derek snickers. "You better tell Lexie."

Addison blinks a few times, lost. "You're dating Grey Jr.?" Mark shoots Derek a glare as Addison turns to him, "Isn't she an intern?"

"Hey," Mark says, smoothly, "Never stopped some people."

"Don't drag me into this."

"What are you talking about, _dragging_? You were already in it! I am not the first person to forge ahead into the intern pool, okay?"

"Addison!" Bailey calls, barreling down the hall, lips pursed in characteristic displeasure.

Addison smiles. "Miranda."

"Get out of my hospital," she enunciates.

"When did this become your hospital?"

Bailey crosses her arms over her chest. "When I became the only person with some sense around here. You talk to Drs. Shepherd and Sloan here who are _supposed _to be doing their weekly clinic rounds and not standing around here socializing like a bunch of middle school girls, and not only do I lose the two of them, but I also lose both Greys who follow the two of them around (for some reason), though God only knows why, and _then_, their posse of friends who also _should _be working here start up the Grey Sisters Love Life Talk Show, and before I know it, there's two people running this hospital: Yang... and me. And no matter how hard she wants to, Yang cannot run the damn hospital by herself, so get..out."

Addison grins. "Nice to see you haven't changed, Miranda."

"Addison, unless you are bleeding from the head or some other place where you are in danger of _dying_, get out of my hospital."

She points at Mark. "Conference at six. Don't be late."

-

They kissed once before all of the drama started up, no strings attached, no sex, no emotion. It was finals week and they were holed up in the science library for the third straight day, forgoing everything but their orgo notes and caffeine. 2:18 am, she starts dancing in an attempt to get circulation to return to her legs, asking him to quiz her. She's delirious, really - they both are; running off of quintuple-shot lattes for days on end will do that.

Before he knows what's going on, she grabs him, kissing him. Her lips brush against his really briefly, it can hardly be called a real kiss, but she's warm and they're exhausted and it feels nice. A reprieve.

_Before he knows what's going on_. That pretty much describes their relationship to a T.

-

(Lexie asks him if he thinks history will repeat itself that night, her eyes worried, and he says no, no, nothing to worry about, nothing to see here - he lies.)

-

She talks a lot over dinner, about various things, some that even cross the border of small talk here and there. She swirls the Chardonnay in her wine glass, chatting about the weather in Los Angeles, the practice, the people she's met. He doesn't really talk all that much, but even he knows that the situation is awkward. She's a little stiff and trying a bit too hard to keep the conversation going, but he owes her this much. The history rests on their shoulders, and he finds himself reminded too much of things that have happened. Dates on the Lower East Side, back before Seattle, where he brushed away stray curls from her face and she smiled at him like she actually cared. Dinners with the three of them at school and in New York, sharing stories about unwavering patients or reminiscing. Really, he doesn't understand how she can expect him to move on when he's blinded by memories every time she steps through the door and asks him to do something.

He thinks she plans it. A giant conspiracy to make sure that no one ever forgets Addison Montgomery. (He thinks he's going crazy - that's the real response.)

"You seeing anyone?" he asks, and it's nice to think that this is just small talk - he has Lexie now (or they're vaguely connected in some way beyond friendship or professionalism) and he and Addison are just two friends who were once something more, but really, his concern for her doesn't extend beyond that, not really -

she smiles a little.

"No."

"What happened?" he asks. "I thought LA was going to be Addison starting over without the baggage from her old life in the way."

She rolls her eyes. "You guys aren't baggage. Well, I mean, okay, you are, but - I don't know. LA just didn't turn out to be the way I wanted it to be."

"Seattle is different."

"I bet."

"You ever been back to New York? I wonder if that old Thai place the three of us used to go to is still there."

She's well trained, offering fake smiles - small ones, so as to give the illusion of actual warmth - and little chuckles. He wonders if she expected him to jump her the minute she got out of the hotel room or something.

She sighs then, and he can hear it, the slight change in pitch marking this one as genuine (he doesn't analyze why he still has all her different moods and emotions categorized). "Mark," she sighs. He lifts his head to look at her. "I miss you."

He purses his lips. "Addie..."

"The timing...was off."

He laughs and it emerges, short and harsh. "It wasn't the timing. It was us."

"People make mistakes, Mark," she says, temper settling in, hardening her words.

"And sometimes people just aren't right for each other."

"Ladies and gentlemen," the PA crackles. "Our first speaker is Dr. Tankha." Smattered applause.

(remember when we used to generate that kind of static? our white noise was greater than the sum of our parts.)

They sit in silence, arched backs against stiff chairs, listening to medical jargon and recent surgical developments (excise the tumor, abscesses, biopsy - cut out pieces of yourself to check if anything's wrong; don't put it back). She reaches for his hand. He doesn't respond. Her thin fingers curl around his wrist, thumb resting against his pulse point. She applies pressure; his eyelashes barely flutter.

-

She used to tuck her head into his shoulder, murmur, "I need you," against his skin.

She used to need him.

She used to admit she needed.

He used to believe her.

-

The reception afterward, they both drink too much wine. He leans into her, standing near each other against the corner. She kisses him and then they are pressing further down the corridor, his lips bruising, teeth biting.

He's wounded, she understands that.

He wants to hurt her, she understands that too.

She doesn't understand why she thinks this time she'll let him.

(he leaves bite marks along her shoulder; small bruises from the harshness of his mouth against her white skin)

-

Intermission. He heads towards the hotel bar as she stands outside and smokes. Most of the other doctors attending the convention have retreated to their hotel rooms, more than a little drunk. He does a shot, and then another.

The smoke curls from her lip in contempt.

She walks back in, high heels clicking loudly against the floor. "Mark." And she stands there, expectant. He doesn't say anything.

Raising his shot glass, "Cheers." And down it goes. To the bartender: "Another."

She rolls her eyes. Weakness bubbles out of her for a second, and then - "See you in five years when you admit that what you're doing now is a mistake and you didn't mean it."

"Is that what you're trying to say about five years ago?"

"All I'm trying to say is that I want you."

"You want me," he repeats.

She rolls her eyes. "Whenever you get your head out of your ass, call me."

"You used to chase Derek," he says to her retreating form. "Even when he came across the fucking country. And me?"

The honesty pollutes the air with bitterness.

"You didn't need chasing."

"And Derek did?"

She sighs in frustration, stomping towards the door. He hears the vague squeal of her tires. He pushes the shot glass towards the bartender gingerly with his fingertips. Looking up, he says, "Make it a double."

The man just nods.

(her lipstick against his collarbone)

She lights a cigarette when she gets back to LA, the flame inching so close to her fingertips, she can feel the pain of intense heat.

(scorched; her hair against yellowed bedsheets)

The nicotine curls around her comfortably.

Five years; they settle in and wait.


End file.
